Thursday, July 17, 2008

A friend of mine just told me the most horrifying story, told to him by another friend years ago. This particular friend of a friend worked at a hospital for a few years and managed to accumulate several disgusting gag-inducing stories that are always fun to tell at parties. Or, you know, on Wednesday mornings over coffee.

As most of these stories go, the particular patient being dealt with had engaged in something they shouldn’t have, which landed them in the hospital. This patient had a long-term bad habit with a slow descent into eventual hospitalization: over-eating. Think Gilbert Grape’s mom. We’ll call her Mama Grape.

They brought Mama Grape into the hospital for heart problems but, as she was laying in the hospital bed watching television, the hospital staff realized that her problems extended into the personal hygiene arena as well. They prepared a sponge bath and started with her feet, working their way up.

It came time for them to care for her abdomen and chest and, as they were professional hospital staff members, they didn’t think anything of her nudity and continued to clean. One of them lifted up one of her breasts to clean underneath and immediately had to stifle a gasp. Right where a bra under-wire should rest, they found a colony of mushrooms.

Mama Grape had mushrooms growing under her breasts.

I can’t help but imagine being one of those hospital workers, going about their already-uncomfortable business of having to deal with nudity on a regular basis, only to discover that things had been taken up a notch. There was actual fungi to be scraped off and cleaned. And how do you go about telling someone who’s sitting back, quietly waiting for the humiliation of a sponge bath to be over, that they had things growing on them that would have to be picked off and thrown in the trash? How did they not make an awkward “what, I’m a fun guy!” joke to break the horrified silence? How did they not give in to their gag reflex? How did they manage the situation without insulting Mama Grape and her hot son Gilbert? Do you ask if anyone thinks they're psychedelic?

I have no words. I wish I knew what theirs were.

It’s stories like these that make me such a sucker for programs like “The 200 Pound Tumor” and “The Man Whose Arms Exploded”. In case you’re wondering about those two, The Tumor did not disappoint. However, the Arm Explosion was really more of a slow bicep leak – LAME.

Tuesday, July 15, 2008

This past weekend found me in Napa Valley with three of my favorite people from college: S, E and A. We finally became friends our senior year despite spending four previous years together and sitting next to each other in sorority meetings, classes, charity projects, musical productions and church services. We had stood next to each other for four years at rush parties, fraternity parties, social mixers and late night dance practices. It wasn’t until one fateful evening that we all four found ourselves standing next to each other once again after a particularly busy sorority meeting, all in dire need of a margarita. I think the exact words that caused four hearts to beat as one were “I’m so sick of this shit. Can we graduate already? I need a stiff drink.”

That one impromptu after-meeting drink naturally turned into four, which caused us to devise a plan to meet every week for the next year to discuss different topics over tequila. None of us had truly been friends before, but all of us were very interested in the others. We had watched the other three girls for four years, always wishing that we ran in the same crowds and had a reason to become friends. We had finally found it: liquor.

In the five years since graduation we’ve made a point to have a reunion each year during the summertime. The first four years were spent poolside in either Dallas or Austin, as the majority of our group lives in one of those two cities. However, this year’s trip was planned at the wedding reception of a mutual friend of ours, over wine. The logic may be tough to follow:

Not lisa: “Mmm… I like wine.”S: “Mmm… Me, too.”E: “Mmm… I love it so much I want to marry it.”A: “Isn’t this wedding beautiful?!”Not lisa: “Word. Hey, we should go to Napa for our reunion next year.”All, in unison: “Word.”

Thursday, July 10, 2008

Boyfriend and I recently attended a funeral. It was an extremely sad occasion (you know, as opposed to the terribly joyful funerals...?) but, of course, we managed to entertain ourselves with inappropriateness.

not lisa: "The idea of a burial creeps me out. Will you please make sure that I'm cremated so I don't take up much needed real estate for all eternity?"

boyfriend: "Sure. Would you like me to do anything in particular with your ashes?"

not lisa: "Hmm... not really. Just throw them wherever. I've never been all that sentimental. (pause) On second thought, I'd like to be baked into a big dish of macaroni and cheese."

read this and the title might make more sense

the word on not lisa

I've recently been described as "zany", "saucy" and "cantankerous." I thought of these as fun descriptions until just now when I realized I sound like a new Golden Girls character who has a drinking problem.
Whatevsies. Bottoms up.